Altared States
by Shotzette
Summary: Alternate Universe fic. What if Laverne had married Sal in Season One's


"Altared States"  
  
By Shotzette  
Rated R  
  
This is a work of fanfiction and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights held by anyone anywhere at anytime. This is just for grins and giggles, not dollars and cents.  
  
"You're late," the snotty young guy in the starched white shirt and silk bowtie informed him, as the silent "again" hung in the air between them.  
  
Lenny elected merely to glower in response as he adjusted his clip on tie and hastily buttoned his burgundy brocade vest. Phil had gotten more irritating by the day ever since he had been promoted to assistant floor supervisor. And to think the little weasel didn't even know how to make a whiskey sour when I had to train his sorry ass, Lenny thought.  
  
Putting thoughts of Phil to the side, Lenny concentrated on waking up without the benefits of caffeine--or anything harder. Eleven thirty? How the hell did he get stuck with the morning shift?  
  
Had to be Phil again. Phil knew he played at the Lucky Clover every Thursday night until four in the morning. It was just the little bastard's way of twisting the knife he stuck into Lenny's back six months ago when a bag of weed "happened" to be found by Lenny's locker.  
  
That moment had pretty much hosed any dreams Lenny may have harbored about climbing the ladder of success at Ballys. Yeah sure, he could transfer over to the gaming floor and start as a pit boss trainee, but he knew deep down he didn't have the stones for that. Besides, he was lousy at doing math in his head.  
  
And working in the casino wasn't his real dream, he reminded himself as he absent-mindedly began to wipe down the bar. Music had always been his dream and nothing could change that. Playing four nights a week at the Clover was all that kept it together for him. Music had always been his solace, his passion, and he knew it to be true; the one thing that kept him from being a total idiot.  
  
After 'Nam, he needed his music even more. He swiftly tucked those memories deep away in the dark hole in his mind that held all of the bad stuff like he usually did.  
  
Bartending might not be the best job, but it was still better than being in a truck fourteen hours at a stretch. He didn't know how he and Squiggy used to do it back in Milwaukee; all night shifts, on nothing stronger than coffee, with only empty milk bottles as their sole "convenience". As hard as that had been, he couldn't imagine doing it today without Squiggy.  
  
Bartending was a helluva lot better than being in the Army; taking orders all day and night, having to hurt people because some jerk told you to...  
  
The casino gave him decent hours, a health plan, and good tips. Besides, in the classier hotels, the security guards would through the obnoxious drunks out for you. After the drunks had lost all of their cash, of course.  
  
It made him sad somedays. People coming into the casino, hoping with all their hearts, desperate to make the big score. The longer they stayed , the more desperate they became--yet, most of them still held out hope. The next turn of the wheel would be for them, the next card dealt would give them the winning hand, the next beautiful woman who walked by would be their's. It was torture, in Lenny's opinion. He'd given up hoping for anything years ago, and he considered himself one of the lucky ones.  
  
It was at that moment he noticed her. It was a lucky thing he hadn't been holding a bottle of the expensive stuff, he'd have dropped it and the casino would have docked his pay. Again.  
  
Talk about a blast from the past. She had long, auburn hair, and an accent that was unfortgettable. It was that chick from three nights ago. The one who was in town with the cosmetic convention at the Hilton. She was very appreciative of guitar playing. So appreciative in fact, he nailed her in the back seat of her rental car in the Clover's parking lot. What the hell was her name? Bonnie? Brenda? Brandy. Sad thing was, it was probably her real name.  
  
Lenny groaned inwardly as her nasal, Texas accent reverberrated in his head as she talked to her girlfriends. He turned around quickly, hoping she hadn't noticed him. It must be traumatic enough to get hammered, then wake up the next day knowing you fucked a hot musician in a parking lot. Lenny didn't know words strong enough to describe the feeling of realizing that the hot muscian wasn't so hot in the light of day, and he was really just a bartender.  
  
Lenny then saw Phil glaring at him from across the floor, while gesturing him towards Brandy and her friends. Lenny favored him with a smirk then spied a blonde at the end of the bar, with a half empty glass of scotch in front of her, and struggling with a defective lighter.  
  
Time to be the white knight, he thought, as he ambled her way and reached for his Bic.  
  
Laverne Malina looked into her glass intently, as though the magical concoction of scotch and soda could tell her fortune.  
  
This trip was not turning out like she thought it would, but then, she thought wryly, whatever had? Ten years ago, if anyone had told her that she'd be sitting alone in the main bar of Bally's Casino while her daughters were flower girls in her ex-husband's wedding, she would have laughed.  
  
No, she corrected herself, the new, unaffected and comfortably numb Laverne would have laughed. The old Laverne would had knocked your teeth all the way to Peoria.  
  
She raised her glass in a mock toast to her feisty old self, before signalling the bartender for a second drink. That was the best part about Vegas. A woman drinking alone in a bar at eleven o'clock in the morning didn't garner any undue attention. She smiled reflexively as the young bartender handed her a second drink. Young, twenty-four or twenty-five, nice smile, and large shoulders. That kind of guy used to be her type.  
  
She cynically shook her head, as she remembered how man-crazy she had been in the past. Scratch that, boy-crazy, not man-crazy. After all, when you get married right after your twentieth birthday, how is a nice Catholic girl supposed to know anything about men?  
  
It took a good four months before the initial bloom of passion had faded for her and Sal, and by that time, she was pregnant with Josie. A night of dancing and a bottle of chianti gave them Sofia three years later. For the first several years of their marriage, both she and Sal were so exhausted by the demands of caring for two children and his frequent transfers from base to base, that they didn't even realize their puppy love was forever gone.  
  
Then, after Sal left the Navy and built his business from nothing to a multi-million dollar venture in three years, they were too busy indulging themselves and their daughters to notice anything was missing. The the emptier their life together became, the more money they spent to compensate themselves and fill their hollow marriage.  
  
She had everything that she and her friends had always dreamed of, and had acheived the only goals she had always been told to aim for, marriage and motherhood. Yet, she had been miserable.  
  
She and Sal had started avoiding each other. He had used his office as a second home, she had tried to lose herself in her daughters, until they both started school full-time. Then, lunches with acquaintances, tennis lessons, and Valium had filled the void.  
  
She realized their sad little game could have gone on forever, if it hadn't started affecting the kids. They tried counselling, EST, even toyed with the idea of joining a swinger's club, until their common sense and rigid upbringing nixed the deal.  
  
The next thing they tried was the most radical, most going against the grain idea either one of them had ever entertained.  
  
Divorce.  
  
They both fought it. It conflicted with every principle either one of them had been raised on, but at the painful, if not bitter, end, they had both finally agreed that it was the only reasonable solution. Much to the obvious dismay of their attorneys, Malina vs. Malina had been a fairly civilized affair. They had agreed that she would keep the too-large house in the Canyon, so the girls would have some sort of stability, even though they spent every other weekend at their father's new place in Malibu.  
  
Divorced, they were the ideal parents and a very happy couple. Then he met Denise.  
  
At first, Laverne hadn't thought about it too much. After she and Sal had split up, he had indulged himself with a variety of California's abundant young, blond things. She too, had made up for lost time. There had been the obligatory schtuup with her very handsome divorce attorney, and a quick fling with the very attractive, and very married friend of Sal's who'd been flirting with her for years. But, there hadn't been an intellectual or emotional connection. Those men were, to put it bluntly, time-passers and exercise.  
  
Denise was different. Laverne realized that when Sal wanted Denise to meet her. Denise was average looking. And smart. And funny. And she adored the girls.  
  
The first time Laverne saw Sal look at Denise, she realized her ex had fallen in love. When she received the wedding invitation, she wasn't surprised. The resulting truth hit her like a ton of bricks. True love was real, it was out there. How come Sal had found it, and she hadn't ?  
  
She was supportive. Sal was a great guy, he deserved to be happy. She sent the happy couple a lovely gift, and even planned on attending the ceremony at one point.  
  
Her panic attack in the mall when she took the girls to have their flower girl dresses fitted squelched that altruistic fantasy. Great guy or no, she just couldn't attend Sal's second wedding. Fortunately for all, Sal's sister Nina volunteered to take the girls to the wedding and watch them for the weekend, freeing Laverne to...?  
  
Sit around her too-big house and mope? Not an option. Impulsively she had called two friends and had suggested a weekend trip to Vegas. Trudy was single and looking, and Elaine looked for any excuse to have time away from her lifelessly dull, but rich, husband.  
  
It sounded like a perfect soloution.  
  
Little had she realized that she would be bored stiff with both women by the end of the hour long flight to MacArthur Airport. In less than an hour they covered all the common ground they had. Children, men, diets, hair, and other women they couldn't stand. By the time the plane landed, Laverne had been engrossed in reading the instructions on her barf bag.  
  
Originally, they had planned to share a three bedroom suite in the exclusive Bally's Tower section. Fortunately for Laverne, a quick twenty to the concierge resulted in that reservation being "lost". Bally's of course offered to comp the women with three separate rooms on the Penthouse level--rooms that were secretly charged to Laverne's American Express. A few years ago, she would have felt guilty for initiating such a deception, now, she rationalized, her mental health was the only important thing. Spending the next three days and nights with those two bubbleheads would require move Valium than even her doctor would prescribe.  
  
Where was Shirley when she needed her?  
  
Right where she was supposed to be, on the arm of her husband, the dashing Dr. Walter Meaney. It took her nearly seven years, but Shirley had finally landed her doctor. After Laverne married Sal, Shirley had expected her to move out, but not away. Shirley had immediately put up notices at Shotz and at the Pizza Bowl advertising for a new roommate.  
  
She went through five roomates in the first year alone.  
  
Her father hadn't been too thrilled either. After Laverne's grandmother had a stroke two years later, Frank DeFazio had sold the Pizza Bowl and moved back to Brooklyn to take care of his invalid mother.  
  
Shirley had her final, big, break up with Carmine, and then did what she had thought about doing two years previously. She moved to California to be near her mother. Shirley had worked as a gift wrapper in some department store for three years when an Army officer on leave asked her to wrap a present for his nephew. It was love at first sight, even faster after Walter told Shirley he was a doctor.  
  
Laverne had been so happy when Sal decided to move his business's headquarters from San Diego to Los Angeles. It was hard for her, to say good bye to the few friends she had made from Sal's Navy days; but the prospect of being near Shirley again thrilled her to the bone. It was going to be just like old times... Until Walter announced he was being transfered to Maryland.  
  
She and Shirley shared a few short weeks of their prior girlish closeness, which was followed by months of extreme depression for Laverne after their farewells were said. That was one of the marvelous things about Los Angeles, Laverne reasoned as she stubbed out her Virginia Slim and reached for her purse, when most people leave, you really don't care when they go, since they didn't matter that much to you in the first place. There was always a bright, shining, happy new face around every corner. That thought usually made her want to throw up.  
  
Laverne pawed through her Luis Vuitton handbag. The accessory was functional, built to last a lifetime, and so egregiously unattractive; that only the wealthy would want one. A quick smile flickered across Laverne's face as she found her quarry. Triumphantly, she dredged up her lighter and a new pack of cigarettes from the depths of her voluminous purse.  
  
The lighter had been her last birthday gift from Sal. Useful, expensive, personal, and not romantic in the least. The perfect gift for the ex- spouse who seemingly has everything, but in reality, nothing. A sterling silver lighter engraved with a cursive "L". She had to hand it to him, Sal was thoughtful to the end.  
  
Yet, as she clicked down on it for the fourth time, being careful not to get the tips of her acrylic nails anywhere near the top, she wished the slim lighter had a larger reservoir for butane.  
  
A hand holding a cheap Bic came into her peripheral vision. And on the eighth day, God created bartenders, Laverne thought with a smile. She looked up and was startled that the hand didn't belong to the young man she'd been scoping out earlier.  
  
It belonged to Lenny Kosnowski instead.  
  
"Lenny? Lenny Kosnowski?" A thrill of nostalgia ran through Laverne as she stared, dumbfounded at her old friend.  
  
"Laverne. Wow. I didn't even recognize you," Lenny said, in a voice that didn't seem all that thrilled.  
  
"Omigod! How long has it been? I haven't seen you since--"  
  
"Since you left Milwaukee thirteen years ago," he finished, the bland smile on his lips not reaching his eyes. He coughed slightly before continuing, "So, how have you and Sal been?"  
  
She paused a moment, letting the smoke slip out of her nostrils to buy herself the time to collect her thoughts, then replied as lightly as she could, "I'm okay, and he's probably very happy since he's getting remarried tomorrow."  
  
"Sal's getting remarried? To someone else?" Lenny asked, astonishment written all over his features.  
  
"Well it would be redundant for him to marry me again, especially since we spent so much cash on our divorce," she said. Her words hung in the rare moment of quiet in the bar, and seemed to crash on her soul like lead balloon. It was then she saw the first flicker of emotion, the first sensation of connection in his blue eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She shrugged, as she stubbed out her cigarette. Damn. She was going through coffin nails faster and faster lately. As she drew her next smoke from the pack, Lenny lit it for her automatically. His hand shook slightly, and she took it in between both of hers, steadying his grip. She smiled slightly as she let her hands puposely linger around his.  
  
Always-there-Lenny, good-old-reliable-Lenny, she thought to herself. A collage of memories beginning in first grade coalesced in her mind. Lenny letting her use his safety scissors after Hector stole hers, playing hide- and-seek during the summer nights on the hot city streets, Lenny offering her half of the warm bottle of Shotz he copped from his Pop's stash. She never realized how much she had missed his solicitous nature until this very moment.  
  
Their eyes locked momentarily, and Laverne felt a glimmer of...something. There was an undefinable energy about Lenny, that seemed out of place, yet familiar.  
  
And then it was gone.  
  
Lenny began to wipe down the bar briskly, his eyes darting from his simple task to a point somewhere above Laverne's left shoulder. Nonchalantly, Laverne opened her bag, obstensively to put away her useless lighter, all the while peering into the small mirror embedded on the inside of the purse's large flap. The bartender who had waited on her earlier was standing several feet behind her and was scowling at Lenny. Funny, that guy had looked a lot more handsome fifteen minutes ago.  
  
"Did I get you in trouble?" Laverne mumbled, as she feigned taking a sip of her now tepid drink.  
  
"They just don't like us fraternizing with the guests to much," Lenny whispered in return, his eyes never leaving his bar rag.  
  
"Oh, please! It's not like there are tons of customers right now," Laverne snorted in derision. It was true. The only other guests at the bar were the gaggle of women at the other end who were whispering maniacally with each other, pausing only to shoot daggers at Lenny with their eyes. Guess they didn't like their drinks, Laverne mused.  
  
"It don't matter. Phil and I don't exactly get along, and he likes any excuse to bust my balls." Lenny reddened slightly. "Sorry," he mumbled.  
  
"Len," she said, choking back a giggle, "my ex-husband was a sailor. Trust me, I've heard much worse." He smiled in response, and she felt an almost triumphant sensation upon realizing she could alter his mood. Emboldened, she said in a much louder tone as she looked pointedly at Lenny, "Excuse me? Could I have another scotch and soda? This one tastes...funny." She winked at Lenny when she saw him suppress a giggle and move towards the back shelf. A second glance in her mirror treated her to the sight of Phil stomping off in a huff.  
  
He was reaching for a generic bottle on the rail when she stopped him. "Len, make it the twelve year old Glenlivet on the top shelf. It's my favorite."  
  
"Top shelf, eh? Someone's come along way in the world, hasn't she?" he said, a trace of mocking in his tone.  
  
She instantly felt uncomfortable, and very much aware he was waiting on her. Why did I say that? This isn't L.A., I don't have to pose here. "It took me a long time to learn to like scotch. Sal suggested I start with the good stuff, since he assumed I'd like it more," she offered up lamely.  
  
"Did you?" he asked, as he set the fresh drink down in front of her.  
  
"Eventually. But," she added in a conspiratorial tone, "it's no milk and Pepsi."  
  
Lenny's guffaw rang through the quiet chatter at the bar, and competed with the chronic din of the slot machines ten yards away. "I can't believe you still drink that stuff," he gasped between laughs.  
  
"Tough talk from a man who used to eat Bosco, lard, and taffy sandwiches in high school," she retorted, as the mood lightened considerably.  
  
"Do I need to remind you how many ways Bosco can be used as a condiment?"  
  
"Please don't!" she said, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. Impulsively, she reached over and squeezed his hand. "It is so good to see you, Len," giving his hand an hesitant squeeze.  
  
"Of all the gin joints in all the world, I'm glad you stumbled into mine, Vernie," he said in his really bad Bogart impression, which made her laugh all the harder.  
  
Wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes, she scanned the bar, looking for someone who should be there. "Len, does Squiggy work here too? I never thought I'd say it, but I'd love to see him."  
  
Wham! She could nearly see him shut down, emotionally. Lenny resumed wiping the bar, but by the force he was using, she would assume he was trying to strip the finish. "Len?" She reached out, hesitantly to touch his sleeve, concern coloring her voice.  
  
"No," he replied, flatly. "Squiggy ain't here, Laverne." He stood back and took a deep breath, before taking her hand in his. "He was reported MIA in De Nang four years ago. I don't even know if he's alive no more," he said brokenly, as he clenched his jaw and resumed his scouring of the bar.  
  
Laverne felt suddenly sick in the pit of her stomach, as her two and a half scotch and sodas threatened to make an encore appearance. Dear God, six years. And she hadn't even cared enough to keep in touch, or at least ask about him. "Lenny, I'm so sorry--"  
  
"Ain't your fault," he replied, his eyes never leaving the now-polished bar.  
  
"I know, but--"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," he said, with an iron in his voice she'd never heard before.  
  
"Fair enough," she said, as she leaned back into her bar stool, and took a sip of her drink. She watched him for several moments, waiting for him to quit scrubbing the bar and speak. Finally, she took the plunge. "How long have you been in Nevada?"  
  
He looked up at her guardedly before replying. "About four years. After my discharge," he elaborated, "I just couldn't stay in Milwaukee no more. Too many memories, y'know?"  
  
"Of Squiggy?"  
  
He looked at her impassively before answering, "And other people as well. So," he said, in a too-cheerful tone, "where are you hanging your hat these days?"  
  
"Los Angeles," she said, raising her glass in a mock salute, "home of the beautiful and the phoney."  
  
"So why do you stay?"  
  
"I can't take my kids away from their dad. It's not their fault we split up, but," she paused to take a long drag off of her cigarette before continuing, "it's been harder on them that it has on us." Laverne quickly took a sip of her scotch and found herself wondering how many Valium were left in her makeup case in her room.  
  
"You got kids?"  
  
"Two beautiful girls. Wanna see some pictures, or will I bore you if I do the 'Mom-thing'?" Before he could answer, she had her wallet in her hand. After thumbing past enough credit cards to make Big Rosie green with envy, Laverne proudly whipped out a formal picture of herself and her daughters.  
  
"No way! You can't have kids this old! They're nearly teenagers." Lenny exclaimed, as he held the pictures closer to the overhead lights.  
  
"Don't remind me! I started young, y'know," Laverne said, half proudly and half regrettfully. "Josie was born right after me and Sal's first wedding anniversary."  
  
"Josie? You named her after your Mama?"  
  
"Yeah," she answered throatily, as the sentiment overtook her. She had forgotten how well Lenny knew her. "And this," she said, pointing to the younger girl, "is Sofia."  
  
"She's gorgeus! She's gonna break some hearts soon."  
  
"Don't remind me. I'll start regretting how many candles I lit in the Church while I was pregnant so they wouldn't inheirit my nose," she said with her old self-depreceating humor.  
  
Strange. She never joked about her looks in LA. Hell, no one did. Appearances were taken very seriously. A few years prior to her break up with Sal, Laverne had gathered up her courage and made an appointment for a consultation with one of Beverly Hill's most prominent plastic surgeons. After spending five minute marking up her nose with a Sharpie, the good doctor went back into his office and came out with a two page list of other "enhancements" she might want to consider. Along with his price list.  
  
As embarrassing as her panic induced nausea had been, she was inwardly pleased that she had thrown up on the hood of the doctor's Jag once she reached the parking lot.  
  
"Nah," Lenny scoffed, "I always thought you had a beautiful nose, Vernie." He blushed quickly, then hastily added, "You know, for a girl who was just a friend and all..."  
  
"Yeah," she affirmed, and wondered why she felt suddenly let down. Feeling the urge to change the subject to safer territory, she asked, "So what about you? Is there a steady lady in your life?'  
  
Once again, she was on the receiving end of his new, and brittle smile. "Nope. Vegas isn't exactly the place to meet people who are interested in a forever sort of thing."  
  
"Yet so many people come here to get hitched."  
  
"Married don't always mean forever, Laverne."  
  
"And I should know that better than anyone?"  
  
"I didn't mean it that way," he began awkwardly.  
  
"I know you didn't. However me and Sal ended up, we both thought we were going to grow old together. All we did was grow middle aged," she said, viciously stabbing out her Virginia Slim in the now full ashtray.  
  
"Laverne, you ain't middle aged," Lenny said with a snort.  
  
"Len, you and I are the same age. You know how old I am."  
  
"Yeah, and you don't look it."  
  
She blushed as his eyes raked over her appraisingly, then seemed to linger at her breasts. "Len?"  
  
He blushed. "You look gorgeus, Vernie. Even better than when I saw you last."  
  
"Oh, c'mon! That was fourteen years ago! Lenny, there is no way I look that good now, especially after having two kids."  
  
"I don't lie," he replied, loftily. "You look prettier now, than you did at you and Sal's rehearsal dinner," he asserted.  
  
"Rehearsal dinner?" She stubbed out her cigarette thoughtfully, as another ancient memory surfaced. "That's right! You didn't come to the wedding," she said, surprised by the accusatory tone in her voice.  
  
"Uh, yeah," he mumbled as his eyes darted away from hers. "I was coming down with something, and I didn't want to spread it around."  
  
"You seemed fine at the rehearsal dinner," she countered. Why was she pushing this? What did it matter now, after all these years? Still, for some reason, she couldn't let go.  
  
"It happened fast," he said with an air of finality.  
  
She decided to tread back to safer ground. "You still playing guitar?" she asked casually. His sheepish smile caused a suprising flutter in her heart.  
  
"Yeah, I'm still playing. I'm lead guitar in a band. It's only part time," he added hastily, "I mean, it's only a few nights a week, and I know I ain't gonna ever do more than that, but I really like it. It makes me happy."  
  
"I'd love to see you perform while I'm in town, Len," she said enthusiastically, "You were always so good when you backed Carmine up back at the Pizza Bowl."  
  
"Yeah, those were the days, eh, Vernie." The wistful expression on his face quickly darkened. "Well, the place I'm playing at now ain't as classy as the Pizza Bowl. I don't think you'd like it much."  
  
"You thought the Pizza Bowl was classy?"  
  
"Yeah," he answered defiantly, "to some of us, it was. You wouldn't understand," he said as he looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her jewelry, "especially now."  
  
Laverne opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by a lazy, Valley drawl behind her .  
  
"There you are," Elaine said petulantly, as though Laverne's absence was a personal affront. "Trudy and I have been looking for you for hours."  
  
"Yet I've only been here for forty-five minutes," Laverne quipped as she unsuccessfully tried to catch Lenny's eye.  
  
"It seemed longer," Elaine whined, "We waited in front of the Will Call office and they wouldn't give us the Wayne Newton tickets since you put all three of them on your credit card."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Laverne said automatically, and reached for her wallet. "Here," she said, as she handed Elaine her American Express card, just sign my name and they'll give you the tickets. Now," she said, smiling, "I'd like you to meet Lenny--"  
  
"Hi, Lenny. I'll have a bloody mary, heavy on the vodka and light on the pepper," she asked.  
  
To Laverne's amazement, Lenny flashed the fake smile she was beginning to dislike, and said in a deceptively happy tone, "Sure thing, coming right up," before busying himself behind the bar.  
  
"Elaine!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"He's an old friend of mine," Laverne whispered harshly.  
  
"Does he make a good bloody mary?"  
  
"Well, I guess so--"  
  
"Then it's okay," Elaine said, with a much practiced air of self importance. "Now, back to the important things. Trudy and I met these two high rollers while we were waiting for you. They have a friend for you, and they want to take us out to see this wonderful band that's playing at the Riviera tonight. Doesn't that sound like fun?"  
  
"Well, yeah. For me and Trudy at least. You're sort of married, remember?"  
  
Elaine snorted out of her professionally sculpted nose. "Laverne, married doesn't equal dead. You should know that better than anyone."  
  
Lenny set Elaine's drink down in front of her and was rewarded with a crumpled five, that he immediatley carried off to the register, all the while avoiding Laverne's gaze.  
  
"Elaine, maybe you and Trudy should go on without me tonight. I have the feeling I'll probably have a headache tonight," Laverne lied.  
  
"Omigod! You get migraines too? I've found that twenty five milligrams of Valium with a Smirnoff chaser does the trick. You should try it," Elaine said..  
  
"I'll remember that," Laverne replied sweetly, as she silently vowed to flush the remainder of her prescription down the toilet at the first opportunity.  
  
"Let me know if you change your mind..." she trilled, flouncing off.  
  
The thud of a glass hitting the bar startled Laverne, as she looked up into the face of...  
  
Phil.  
  
"You're drink, m'am," he said, emphasizing the "m'am" as only a snotty guy in his twenties could.  
  
"Thank you. What happened to the other bartender?" Laverne craned her neck, but was only rewarded by the sight of an empty bar.  
  
"Some people just take their breaks whenever the mood suits them," Phil sniffed.  
  
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, he was so entertaining," she said, drawing on all the superficial social skills that she had gleaned from years of immersion in the Los Angeles cocktail party scene. "He was telling me all about his band, and how they're playing at the Riviera tonight, and I should come see him."  
  
Phil let out a bitter little laugh. "You should go to the Riviera. Whoever's playing their has got to be better than the second rate band of losers that Kosnowski plays with at the Lucky Clover."  
  
"The Lucky Clover? Is that anywhere near Harrah's?" Laverne forced herself to give Phil that I'm-so-enraptured-by-your-words look that most men found irresistable. That look was getting harder to do convincingly with each passing year.  
  
"No, it's some Country/Rock bar in the north end of Vegas. A really seedy area. Not," he leaned in with a smirk, as his eyes fell on the diamond "L" pendant hanging from her neck, "a place where a fine lady like yourself should be."  
  
Laverne flashed him the phoniest of her L.A. smiles, the one you gave to a caterer you never intended to recommend to anyone, and placed a twenty and a ten on the bar. "Thanks for setting me straight."  
  
"Anytime," Phil replied, with a predatory smile that made Laverne want to brain him with her barstool.  
  
The Lucky Clover in the north end of town. Wayne Newton would have to wait, she thought as she headed back to her room.  
  
"...and we're back! Thanks for hanging around, and don't worry folks, we've sobered up our guitarist," JJ said jovially to the audience, as he turned and stared daggers into Lenny's eyes.  
  
Lenny gave the crowd a faux-sheepish grin as he waved at them. Asshole, he thought bitterly. You're the expert on performing wasted, aren't you, JJ?  
  
"Once again," JJ continued, without missing a beat, "We're Rolling Thunder, and we're here at the Lucky Clover every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Tell your friends, or if you don't like us, tell your enemies." As usual, that line didn't even get a titter from the tourists, or the slack jawed locals. "Now here's a little song made famous by the gone, but not forgotten, Buddy Holly," JJ said, as the band started the intro to 'That'll Be the Day".  
  
Not again, Lenny groaned inwardly. He was so sick of playing the same old Buddy Holly covers that he could puke. It was like being Linda Rondstadt with a dick. But, as JJ kept reminding him, they were his amps, and his brother, Dwight was the bar manager; so JJ selected the tunes. The hell of it was, Lenny knew he had screwed up the first set. His timing was off, his fingers were sluggish, and he was off-key something horrible in the chorus. Admittedly, Lenny didn't care about much in this world anymore, but he still took pride in his music. At least JJ could blame it on the weed and tequila when he messed up. Lenny could only blame Laverne. No, he corrected, he could only blame the effect Laverne still had on him. With all of his heart, he wished he'd walked over Brandy's way instead of hers and taken his rightful share of abuse.  
  
He hadn't even recognized Laverne at first. Her hair was different, her clothes, her...attitude. She had changed, for the better, as opposed to him. She was classy now, she looked like she belonged in a multi-million dollar casino, instead of on an assembly line. Even though her marriage had tanked, life had been good to her. She had two beautiful daughters, no money worries by the looks of things, and a whole new set of friends.  
  
Friends that were ritzier than the ones she used to have.  
  
He'd actually started to enjoy talking with her, to think there might be some sort of connection, until her friend showed up. And that's when he went back to just being a bartender.  
  
And Laverne let him. She just sat back and let her friend treat him like...like what he was. A loser.  
  
If Laverne had been out of his league back when she was just a bottle capper and he was a truck driver, what was she now that she was rich and he was only a bartender who played in a crappy band? The years had widened the gulf between them, not narrowed it as his earlier, rare moment of optimism had allowed him to believe.  
  
Damnit. Thirteen years had gone by since he had seen her last, but he still felt as awkward as he did when he was a teenager. He'd had a crush on her since he was twelve, and he'd been content to worship her from affar; or publicly harass her with Squiggy and Hector. He'd never had the nerve to ask her out on a real date when they were teenagers. She'd always been on the arm of some other guy who was cooler, more handsome, or smarter. Usually, all three  
  
He got up the nerve to ask her to dance once, during their junior prom. He knew the attractive, older guy spinning Laverne around the dance floor was in reality, her cousin, Vito. It was the only thing that enabled him to screw up his courage, temporarily abandon his date--who was on a weekend pass from reform school, and more interested in sharing the janitor's flask than hanging out with him, anyhow--and ask her to dance.  
  
A slow dance.  
  
Laverne hadn't seemed too thrilled, but evidently Vito had been happy to ditch his kid cousin, even for a few minutes. When the band had started to play, "In the Still of the Night", it immediately become their song.  
  
She'd initially been stiff in his awkward arms, but midway through the song, she apparently realized he wasn't going to do anything disgusting to embarrass her, and she relaxed. Holding her close--not too close since Miss Dooley, the scary Assistant Principal was darting around the floor in a vain attempt to enforce the "six inch minimum distance" rule--Lenny concentrated on the combined smells of Laverne's perfume, her shampoo, and the scent of her Juicy Fruit gum. From that point forward, he had always heard a few bars in his head when he had seen her; and hearing the song had always brought back memories of Laverne in her light blue dress, smelling of L'Air du Temps, in frightening clarity.  
  
The song had come on Radio America, the night he had learned Squiggy was MIA, and compounded his grief even further.  
  
Then just when he thought his night couldn't get any worse, she walked through the main doors of the Clover. Once again, Lenny missed the correct chord, earning him angry glares from JJ and the drummer.  
  
What the hell did she think she was doing coming here? Anger warred with something else within him as he saw her move closer to the band. Didn't she know she didn't belong? Anyone could tell at a distance that her outfit, casual as it was, probably cost more than what most people in the Clover earned in a week. He didn't even want to think how much her jewelry cost. She stood out like a solitary diamond among rhinestones, and the Clover's not always a place you want to stand out in.  
  
The tourists mostly ignored Laverne as she inched her way closer to the stage. The locals were another story. One in particular made Lenny's jaw clench and his gut tighten. Ed Wilcox. A guy who was known to get nasty, very nasty after a few drinks. So nasty, the bar's bouncer, Ricky, told him the last time he had to throw Ed out, that Ed was no longer welcome back at the Lucky Clover. Ever.  
  
Lenny stood on his tiptoes and craned his neck as he tried to catch the bouncer's eye at the door. He winced when he saw that Ricky wasn't working tonight, and new the other bouncer, Joe would be little to no help if anything went wrong. While Ricky looked a bit like a taller Carmine Ragusa, Joe looked more like a sickly Eraserhead.  
  
The unpleasant sensation in his gut didn't get any better as Lenny watached Ed skulk his way over to Laverne. Laverne, of course, was still trying to light up with the same busted lighter. Jeez, Lenny thought sarcastically, with all of your money, you can't afford an eighty cent lighter that works? His eyes narrowed as he watched Ed offer Laverne a light, oozing phony charm.  
  
Lenny's heart sank. Instead of shoving the bum away and threatening to punch his lights out, Laverne apparently thanked the creep and smiled at him. Guys like Ed considered responses like that foreplay.  
  
Playing by rote, with all the emotion of a robot, Lenny kept his eyes locked on Laverne. It looked like she was wising up, he thought hopefully, as he finally saw her start to slowly move away from a still-yammering Ed. Laverne continued to move futher into the crowd, and as her eyes locked with his, he noted their slightly panicked expression.  
  
Ed grabbing Laverne's arm was the last straw. Before he knew what he was doing, Lenny felt himself toss his beloved Fender to one side and jump off of the four foot stage. Running into the crowd, who were now backing quickly away from the crazy, drunken musician, Lenny grabbed Laverne's other arm and yanked her away from Ed.  
  
"Lenny, what the--" Laverne started, but he wouldn't let her finish.  
  
"Back the hell off!" Lenny snarled in Ed's face, as he bristled in rage.  
  
And Ed did. Laughing nervously, the larger man ambled back to the bar and back to his few friends, warily keeping his eyes on Lenny the entire time.  
  
As Lenny continued to yank Laverne's arm as he pulled her to the exit, JJ's parting words over the microphone about auditioning new guitarists rang in his years. Great, he thought to himself. My first steady gig in years, and I blow it in one night.  
  
"Let me go!" Laverne shouted, as she finally wrenched free of his grasp, stumbling on her high heeled sandals in the dirt parking lot. "What's your problem?" she asked, her green eyes flashing as she rubbed her upper arm.  
  
"You! You," he repeated in a quieter, though no less angry tone. "You are my problem, Laverne. Because of you, I'm no longer part of the band. JJ's probably going to pawn my guitar since I owe him fifty bucks for the microphone stand I busted two months ago."  
  
"I'm not the one who told you to jump off the stage and play the white knight in the middle of your set!"  
  
"Excuse me for trying to be a gentleman and come to your rescue!"  
  
"I didn't need rescuing, Lenny! I was moving away from that creep on my own," she flared.  
  
"He grabbed you!"  
  
"Yeah, and I was getting ready to grind my heel down his shin, and the bouncer was already moving towards us. Don't blame me for you losing your job," she said, turning toward the only big and shiny car in the lot. "And by the way," she growled, spinning around to face him, "your ex-band was awful! You and Squiggy sounded ten times better back in high school when you were both still learning. Those guys can't make it without you."  
  
"Grow up, Laverne," he said in a voice that sounded frighteningly dead and far away to his own ears. "That band is the best I can do. And bartending is the best I can do. This is as good as I get, only now, thanks to you, I don't got a band no more!" he railed. "All you had to do was not show up, like I asked. But no, you hadda come here with your expensive clothes and your real jewelry and you're not knowing that you don't fit in to places like that no more. Some of us still fit in dumps like this. We ain't gotta choice," he finished, brokenly.  
  
Looking off into the neon illuminated desert, Laverne mumbled, "I just wanted to hear an old friend perform. Is that so bad?"  
  
"You just don't get it. I lose the one steady gig I've had in years, and all you can see is how it effects you."  
  
"Lenny, I didn't mean to--"  
  
"No, Laverne, you didn't. It just never occurs to you that the things you do can cause other people problems. In that way, you haven't changed a bit, you can just screw things up showing up." He angrily strode over to the dented green Ford with the blue hood and angrily opened the driver's side door. He got in, then stuck his head out the window and said, "Go back to Bally's, Laverne. The dinner crowd for Wayne Newton is more your style than anything in this end of town."  
  
"Will I see you there?"  
  
"No! Saturday's my day off, and even if it wasn't, I wouldn't want to see you." With that he took a deep breath, and tried to enjoy the small ripple of satisfaction in saying his piece and moving on with his life. He turned the key and envisioned gunning the motor and leaving Laverne DeFazio Malina behind in a cloud of dust, with all of his other broken dreams.  
  
If only his battery hadn't been dead.  
  
Several long seconds went by as he looked blankly at his steering wheel, willing himself to wake up from the nightmare.  
  
He was then very aware of the smell of perfume as Laverne leaned into the driver's side window and purred, "So I guess you'll be needing a ride home?"  
  
The ride to Henderson was a quiet one, the silence only broken by Lenny's monosyllabic directions. Finally, the Mercury Cougar came to a stop in front of an apartment complex that had seen better days. In Laverne's eye the place didn't look horrible, but then again, moonlight and darkness could hide a lot of ugly.  
  
The very instant that the car rolled to a stop, Lenny opened the passenger side door and was out in a flash.  
  
"You're welcome!" Laverne hollered at his retreating form. Jerk. He had one helluva nerve blaming her for tonight. He was the one who lost his cool--and his job. But, she reflected, as raindrops started to pelt her windshield, that was typically Lenny. Always using his gut or his heart, rarely his brain.  
  
And, now that she considered it, what was so wrong about that? Had her years in the oh-so-political worlds of Navy bases and California sycophants left her unable to recognize a basic human emotion when it was staring her right in the face?  
  
She pondered that thought for a moment, allowing the steadily increasing sound of the rain lull her into almost a meditative state. She closed her eyes as she began to let go of the day's tension and breathe deeply.  
  
Her techniques were completely nullified by the loud rapping on her window accompanied by the distorted face of Lenny Kosnowski.  
  
Laverne screamed and lunged forward, as if to run away while inside a car. All she succeeded in doing was slamming her left breast painfully into the steering column. She massaged her injured breast until she remembered Lenny's presence, and turned towards him just in time to see him wipe the leering smirk off of his face.  
  
"What!" Laverne screeched, after rolling down her window.  
  
"You need to come inside or something," he said, raising his voice to be heard against the downpour.  
  
"I'm fine! It's just rain," she said rolling her eyes. Lenny had turned into a bigger worry wart than her grandmother had been since they had last met.  
  
"No! It's dangerous, they got flash floods around here!"  
  
"I'll be fine!"  
  
He looked like he was going to argue further, but something caught his eye and he stared past her with a worried expression on his face, as his eyes grew large.  
  
Laverne turned her head quickly to her right just in time to see...  
  
Nothing. Absolutley nothing. She then felt Lenny's forearm graze across her breasts and looked over just in time to see him yank her keys out of the ignition. Sonofa--  
  
"Lenny!"  
  
He smirked again, an expression she was beginning to loathe, pocketed her keys, and dashed back into his building.  
  
Fine, she thought. She hadn't intended on driving in this slop, anywhow. She allowed herself a smug smile at his foolishness for dashing out into the rain. Didn't he think she had an ounce of common sense? Her smile quickly faded as she realized the Cougar had power windows.  
  
Windows that she couldn't roll up without the key in the ignition.  
  
Cursing Lenny, his parents, and any offspring he may unfortunately father in the future; Laverne gritted her teeth, and threw open the car door to dash the fifteen yards to Lenny's apartment door in her three inch heeled sandals. Bastard!  
  
He was learning against the door jamb when she literally ran right into him, soaked to the skin and loaded for bear. "You--" She sputtered, too angry to form words.  
  
He glanced at his wristwatch, and favored her with a sour smile before saying, "I wondered how long it would take you to figure out your window was open." He then tossed the damp towel her way. "If you come in, dry off. If you stay in the hall, just watch out for my neighbor, Earl. He gets very angry when strangers step on his invisible cats."  
  
Laverne gritted her teeth as she begrudgingly toweled herself off before bracing herself and stepping into his apartment. It wasn't half bad. Well, she ammended, by Lenny standards anyhow. It looked a lot better than his old place on Knapp Street had. Hell, it looked a little better than her old apartment had. Except...  
  
It was empty. There was a coffee table, and a couch done in early low- income-bachelor, but there was nothing that said "Lenny" in the place.  
  
"Nice," she said neutrally. "How long have you lived here?"  
  
"Four years," he replied, heading towards the kitchen. "You wanna beer?"  
  
"Yeah,"  
  
"I only got Bud," he said, a challenge in his tone.  
  
She didn't rise to the bait. "I still can't believe they bought out Shotz."  
  
Lenny shrugged noncommittally, and handed her a can. "I ain't got any glasses."  
  
"It doesn't matter," she said, as she continued to look around the apartment to find some sort of connection to her old friend. A smile lit up her face when she saw a battered turntable in the corner, and a stack of records. "You got quite a collection, there, Lenny."  
  
He merely shrugged again. "I lost most of them when I went to Vietnam. Mrs. Babish, my old landlady offered to store them for me for free if I quit going out with her daughter. It seemed like a fair trade," he said, with an edge of bitterness creeping into his tone.  
  
She started to ask him about his landlady's daughter, but realized she didn't want to know. Silly, she chided herself, did you think Lenny Kosnowski would grow up to be a monk?  
  
A memory replayed itself unbidden in her mind.  
  
Junior prom. Her boyfriend had dumped her days earlier, and she refused to stay home and let the beautiful dress she had purchased with her babysitting money go to waste in the back of her closet. Her father made a few calls, then ended up bullying her cousin Vito from Chicago to be her escort. For a bus ticket and two six-packs, she had a date.  
  
Well, Vito was handsome--not just by DeFazio standards, and a good dancer. No one except Shirley knew who he really was, and she enjoyed the way Vito turned heads as he twirled her around the dance floor.  
  
Well, she enjoyed it for the first hour. After that, the smile plastered on her face became painful, and the charade of the evening made her feel empty inside.  
  
As Vito headed outside for a smoke, Lenny surprised her by asking her to dance. She was shocked at his bravery. Vito was twice his size and could have pounded the younger man into the ground without breaking a sweat.  
  
Then she caught a glimpse of Lenny's date. A gum-cracking toughie, that had succeeded in staring down even Terri Buttafucco and was now sipping bourbon out of the creepy janitor's flask. Her heart went out to Lenny. He must of have been desperate to end up with something like that.  
  
Then, with a graciousness that would have done justice to Loretta Young, Laverne politely accepted his invitation. Funny, she still remembered the song they played was, "In the Still of the Night". After Lenny had calmed down, and more importantly, stopped stepping on her toes, she was able to relax into his embrace. He wasn't a bad dancer, really. He held her close, but not too close, and when he held her in his usually gangly and awkward arms; she felt strangely protected. She could smell the faint scents of SenSen, Bosco, and Aqua-Velva; all vying for dominance in his essence.  
  
It was strange. In the course of ninety seconds, Lenny Kosnowski had gone from childhood playmate, and occassional sports buddy to...?  
  
To what?  
  
Just at the point when she had been actually contemplating that they could be more, that he was the element making her heart beat faster, that they should have been each other's dates...  
  
Cold water had exploded around her and had brought her quickly back to reality. Squiggy had run up behind Lenny and had clobbered him with a water balloon, leaving her to curse at the water stains on her satin dress as a gaggle of football players had carried the two feuding boys out to the parking lot. She'd asked Vito to take her home shortly after that.  
  
"Laverne?"  
  
She looked up to see Lenny staring down at her with a concerned expression on his face. "You okay?"  
  
She flashed a quick, L.A. sort of smile. "I'm fine," she repeated automatically, knowing it was a lie as always. "Just thinking about the old days in Milwaukee."  
  
His look soured quickly. "It wasn't that long ago for some of us. I just left there five years ago. You're the one who left and never looked back," he threw in.  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I mean what I just said. You left and forgot about everyone. You just got on with your big fancy life, Laverne. Screw the rest of us!" He angrily stalked across the room, as if physical distance from her would help him to control himself.  
  
"You've got one helluva nerve," she flared as she slammed the beer can down on the coffee table. "Did you think we had enough money for a bus ticket all the way from Virginia? Did you think I could take a baby on a seventeen hour bus ride?" She looked at him, aghast.  
  
"You didn't come back once you had the money," he said, accusingly.  
  
"I didn't think I needed to! Shirley had moved to California by then, and my Pop had moved back to New York!"  
  
"Yeah," Lenny said dully, "No one else mattered to you."  
  
"Lenny, I tried..."  
  
"No, you didn't."  
  
"We were friends, but--"  
  
His snort of derision rang out loud and clear. "Friends? Yeah, right! Friends stay in touch Laverne, even when they move away. You and Sal just left."  
  
"He got transferred, for Christ's sake! He was in the Navy! That's what people in the military do!" she exclaimed, exasperation giving her voice an hysterical edge.  
  
"Yeah? Well some of us get to go to really exciting places in the military. Like Vietnam! But, I guess being stateside was easy, just going from one base to the next."  
  
"Really? Do you think that's all I did? Travel to new and exciting places all the time and sit on my keister? Do you know what it's like to have to pack up an entire apartment by yourself when your seven months pregnant and your husband just calls and says, "We gotta be in Virginia by the end of the month?". Do you know what it's like to be in a new town, not knowing no one, with a two year old while your husband is on an aircraft carrier off the coast of Cuba and ever other word you hear on the radio is "missile"?  
  
He looked away, and scowled at the darkness.  
  
"Me and Sal worked our tails off to get what we had. He went to night school after he got out of the Navy, so he could learn how to run the business he started. I wouldn't see him for days on end because he slept on a cot in his warehouse because he was too tired to drive home. And during his seventy hour weeks, who do you think cooked, cleaned, and took care of our daughters so he could spend so much time away? I ain't apologizing for anything I have now, Lenny, 'cause I helped earn it. If you can't see that, then you aren't my friend. Perhaps you never were," she finished as she reached for her beer.  
  
"I've always been your friend, Laverne," he said, the emphasis on the word "your".  
  
"Friends come to friend's weddings, or didn't you know that?" She took another large swig of beer before continuing and cursed her earlier decision to flush her Valium. The two she had take for the flight had worn off hours before, and she could feel her anxiety building. "It really hurt that you weren't there, Lenny. When you only invite ten people to see you get hitched, you really notice when one's missing."  
  
"I was--"  
  
"Yeah. Sick, I know," Laverne said derisively as she rolled her eyes.  
  
"No. Not really, he said, softly, "what I was going to say was, I wasn't ready to see you get married."  
  
She looked at him in amazement.  
  
Blushing, he hurriedley added. "I had a small, very small--tiny, crush on you. Back then, y'know."  
  
"A crush?"  
  
"Yeah. Just a crush. Y'know, we was all just fresh outta high school, and I was never smooth with the ladies like Squiggy, and you was one of the few girls who would actually talk to me and NOT hit me. Well, not too hard, anyhow." His face grew even more red as his eyes darted around the apartment, nervously. "Then, you moved away," he said, in a plaintive, childlike tone.  
  
A wave of guilt washed over Laverne, confusing her further. "I never knew you felt that way about me, Len."  
  
"Well, I sorta did. Back then," he added quickly.  
  
The wave of disappointment going through her suprised Laverne. "You hit the nail on the head, though, Len," she said, intentionally trying to keep her tone light. "We were so young back then, so inexperienced. And there me and Sal were, making a committment that was supposed to last a lifetime. How's anyone supposed to know at twenty and twenty-five what they want," she said as she looked off to a distant point that only she could see.  
  
"Some of us know, Vernie," Lenny said in an odd tone. When she looked at him, he broke into a wide grin and continued, "I alway knew I wanted to play the guitar. I can't remember not wanting to play."  
  
"You were always so good at that," she said as she matched his grin. "I'm glad you're in a band." Her face quickly fell as she remembered his current situation and her role in it. "I'm sorry I lost you your job tonight, Len."  
  
"It ain't your fault. Things hadn't been going too well anyhow. You was just sort of the thing that broke the camel's hump, Laverne. I stayed with Rolling Thunder as long as I did because it was easy," he said, as if realizing it for the first time. "When I left Milwaukee, my plan was to hitchhike to California, like me and Squig had planned when we left the Army. Squiggy had a great idea, Laverne! He wanted to start a combination ice cream business and talent agency!"  
  
Laverne opened her mouth to scoff, but then thought the better of it. Besides, in California, an idea that crazy would be likely to succeed. "So, you wanted to start the business yourself?"  
  
"Nah...Squiggy was the business man, not me. I just figured that maybe, just maybe, if I got seen by the right people at an open mike night, or hooked up with a band that liked my songs, I might be able to make it." The intense blue light in his eyes dimmed, and his voice fell as he continued. "But, it took me nearly two months of hitchhiking before I even got near Vegas. By then, I was so tired of little cow towns, I just had to be back in a city, y'know?"  
  
"Yeah. I can't see either one of us staying in a small town for long."  
  
"It wasn't bad, at first. This town is crawling with cheap places to stay, and I got a job as a busboy at Bally's. It just got..." he furrowed his brow as he struggled to find the words.  
  
"Comfortable?"  
  
"Yeah. Comfortable, but not all that good. Y'know what that's like?"  
  
"Yeah," she quipped, as she was suddenly overcome with a desire for a cigarette, "You just described the last four years of my marriage." Reaching for her bag, she looked up at him questioningly, "Do you mind if I- -"  
  
"Nah, go ahead. Can I have one?"  
  
She was shocked. She'd never known Lenny to smoke, and part of her felt suddenly guilty, like she was giving a twelve year old a beer.  
  
He seemed to sense her question. "I started in Vietnam."  
  
"Oh."  
  
He shrugged again. "I needed something to do, and I didn't have my guitar. I was either bored out of my mind, or scared out of my pants." He bit his lip, and looked at her earnestly before saying, "I'm sorry what I said about Sal, having it easy being stateside and all. I always thought he was a good guy, Vernie."  
  
She smiled. "He was. And is. We were young, and we rushed into marriage. Neither one of us wanted to be alone, and we thought getting married would fix it."  
  
"It doesn't?"  
  
"Not for us. It was like being alone with someone hogging half of the bed." She exhaled a cloud of smoke, as the mood grew silent and awkward. Forcing a safer subject, she said, "It doesn't sound like that rain's going to let up anytime soon, does it?"  
  
"Nah. It don't rain much in Nevada, but when it does, it really does." His eyes fell to the record player beside her. "Do you want to hear some music?"  
  
"Yeah." She smiled a few moments later, as the complex melodies and haunting lyrics of The Doors filled the small apartment.  
  
"You're a fan?"  
  
"Yeah," she answered, as she closed her eyes and revelled in a memory. "Me and Shirl went to see them once at the Whiskey in L.A."  
  
"I can see you doing that, but not Shirley,"  
  
"I dragged her. Right after I moved to Los Angeles, she found out that Walter--that's her husband, was being transferred to the east coast. I talked her into a girl's night out before she left." Laverne's eye grew bright, as the details of that night came back as clear as yesterday. "We had a few drinks, flirted with some guys, even smoke a little pot," she said as she began to giggle at the suprised look on Lenny's face, "It was a lot like old times. For one night, we weren't wives, or mothers. Just two girls looking for some fun. I forgot what that was like..."  
  
"Did you do it again?"  
  
She shook her head. "Shirley felt too guilty. Walter's pretty straight laced, and she never wanted him to know. I think she told him we went to a movie, or something tame."  
  
"Did Sal know?"  
  
Again she shook her head. "I never tried to hide it from him, but we were pretty much leading separate lives at that point."  
  
Again, the awkward silence fell.  
  
"I never saw him in concert, but reading his music made me realize that I ain't got no talent at all," Lenny said forlornly.  
  
"Len! You got a lot of talent! You were playing great tonight, until-- well, you know. And you used to write really interesting songs back in high school."  
  
"Laverne, you said my songs were goofy back then!"  
  
"Well, I shouldn't have said that. You have a ...unique way of seeing things. The stuff you wrote always made me think, some of it made me cringe, but it always made me think."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah!"  
  
In a flash, Lenny was on his feet and running to his hall closet. He returned triumphantly carrying an ancient shoe box, tied with a piece of string. "Here," he said, tossing the box her way. "These are some of the songs I've wrote. I'd like to know what you think." His eyes drifted to her torso momentarily, and he blushed. "You must be cold. I can make some hot chocolate."  
  
"You drink hot chocolate in the desert?"  
  
"Yeah. The off switch on my air conditioning don't work too well. Do you want some?"  
  
"Yeah. It sounds good, Lenny." With that, she opened the box and started to sort through the scraps of paper, covered in Lenny's childlike scrawl.  
  
Laverne smiled in spite of herself. Some of the titles she remembered from high school, "Star Crossed, "The Creature Without a Head", and "Night After Night". Others were fresh territory. Almost against her will, she became drawn into the worlds Lenny created with his words. While his viewpoints were still, well, unique to put it kindly; his later works had a maturity and subtlety that impressed her, and under currents of despair that frightened her. She wondered how many of these songs were penned in Vietnam. The lyrics to "Quiet Amy" were especially poignant, and nearly brought her to tears. Well, she reasoned, they say art comes from suffering.  
  
Lenny was looking more artistic by the moment.  
  
Yet none the neater. Lenny's masterpieces were written on cocktail napkins, paper towels, scraps of notebook paper, and in one case, the discarded page of a 1969 calendar. Lavene unfolded the yellowing calendar page and squinted to read the blurred pencil marks on the back.  
  
Some say that life is dumb, the things you want don't ever come. That is not my prob-a-lem I'm in love with La--  
  
Laverne yelped in surprise as Lenny angrily tore the page out of her hand and began to rip it up angrily. "Hey! You're the one who handed me the box!"  
  
Lenny's attention seemed to be soley focused on ripping the sheet of paper up viciously, as if to pay it back for his damaged pride. "I forgot that was in there," he said defiantly when he finally met her gaze.  
  
"I didn't know--"  
  
"Sure you did! I told you tonight that I had a crush on you back in high school! Hell," he snorted, as his voice trembled, "you must have been blind not to have seen it back then. I never really tried too hard to hide my feelings for you, Laverne."  
  
"But--"  
  
"But nothing! That was high school, this is now. It's been a long time and things have changed for both of us. I don't think of you that way no more, and you never thought of me that way, so let's just drop it, okay?"  
  
"But," she repeated more firmly, "that calendar was from back in 1969, Len. I'd been married to Sal for nine years. That wasn't high school anymore, and I don't think that was just a crush, was it?" His pain filled blue eyes told her what his words couldn't. Never before in her life had Laverne seen such naked need, such hunger. "Why didn't you ever ask me out if you felt that way, Len?"  
  
He let out a short, ugly laugh that held no joy. "I did ask you out, Laverne! Me and Squiggy used to ask you and Shirley out all the time."  
  
"Yeah, as a joke! You two were never serious, Len. You used the same ridiculous lines on us that you used on all of the girls."  
  
"I meant it," he stated flatly.  
  
She blinked in surprise. "Well..."  
  
"It didn't matter if I meant it or not, Laverne. What matters is that you always turned me down."  
  
"I didn't turn you down at the junior prom did I?" Laverne felt a perverse thrill when she saw the surprised look upon Lenny's face.  
  
"You just wanted a break from your cousin," he said, meanly.  
  
Now it was her turn to be surprised. "You knew?"  
  
"Everyone knew, Lavene," he said, as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "at least, everyone who was in the Pizza Bowl the day he talked to your cousin on the phone knew. Your Pop's not the quietest guy whoever was, y'know."  
  
"Oh," she said, suddenly embarrassed by a nearly two decade old deception.  
  
He sat down heavily on the dilapidated couch. "Who was I to judge? My date was in reform school, and I think she stole my wallet that night."  
  
Despite herself, a smile crept across Laverne's face. "We're one helluva pair, dating relatives and felons."  
  
"Yeah. And we ain't even southern.," Lenny guffawed. His face sobered quickly, as he looked into her eyes. "Well, like I said, that was then and this is now, Laverne. We ain't in high school no more."  
  
"That's a shame, 'cause if I thought you'd really been serious, I might have said yes."  
  
"Yeah, right!"  
  
"I'm telling the truth, Len."  
  
"Great. Another thing I blew." He covered his face with his hands, and exhaled with an exhaustion that was beyond his thirty five years. "Laverne, let's do ourselves a big favor and pretend this conversation never happened. In fact, let's pretend this whole crazy night never happened, okay?"  
  
"Is that what you want?" she asked quietly, as she sat down on the couch next to him.  
  
"I'm really not in the mood to play games right now," he said, with an unfamiliar edge in his voice.  
  
"Me neither," she said and scooted closer to him.  
  
"I ain't in love with you no more!"  
  
Deep down, she didn't really believe him. And part of her didn't care one way or the other. She tucked that bit of guilt neatly away, and quietly reminded herself she'd need to renew her Valium prescription the next day. "That's fine with me, Len. I'm not interested in anything permanent," she bluffed, as she forced a jaded tone into her voice. "It's just...It's two in the morning." At his puzzled expression, she continued, "Maybe neither one of us really wants to be alone tonight."  
  
The nasty smirk returned. "A vacation quickie with a bartender? Gee Laverne, that's so California of you."  
  
"I have the feeling I wouldn't be dragging you into unfamiliar territory, would I?" Her own voice had hardened. I can do it, she said to herself, sex and love are two different things. This would just be like the other men after Sal. Nothing more. Her hand reached down to touch his, and she was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath.  
  
In an instant, he gripped her upper arms, pressing her back against the couch. "I don't wanna play games," he repeated. She felt a mild surge of panic at his roughness, and the intensity in his eyes did little to reassure her. It was at that moment she realized that he was the one trembling, not her. Behind the fire in his eyes, there was fear. Pressing herself forward into his embrace, she kissed him roughly, supressing a smile when he responded.  
  
His kisses were more hungry than tender, but tenderness wasn't something she was looking for tonight. She wanted to be touched, to be reminded she wasn't totally alone in the world, to feel that certain level of warmth that only comes when flesh meets flesh.  
  
As his lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, she sighed. Her flesh erupted into goosebumps as his kisses bruised her. Her hands tangled in his longer hair, revelling in the lack of Brylcreem in the dark blond strands. Laverne had a momentary flash of deja vu as the gangly teenaged arms she remembered clutched her against him, toned and strengthened by years of exercise and guitar playing. The protected feeling she had remembered from all those years ago was magnified, as he pulled her closer against him.  
  
Laverne pushed him back slightly, forcing him to look at her. The face that greeted her was ravenous, like some sort of animal being pulled away from it's prey. Lenny's jaw was clenched, and he looked like he was trying to gain some level of reason, as his hands continued their merciless caress. "Bedroom?' she said, in a small voice she barely recognized as her own.  
  
He grunted in response, and roughly pulled her astride his lap. Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he rose from the couch as her tongue began it's wanton exploration of his mouth.  
  
He stumbled down the narrow hallway, her scissored legs around his waist, delighting in the sensation of his hardness against her. He flicked the light switch on with his elbow, his lips never leaving her's as their tongues continued their writhing dance.  
  
Laverne did a quick survey of his bedroom out of the corner of one eye. Neutral, brown, ugly, but not disgusting. The latter thought strengthened her resolve. When Lenny deposited her on his bed, she immediately pulled herself up on her knees so they were eye to eye as he stood on the floor. Her trembling hands flew to the buttons on his denim shirt, like a greedy child's on Christmas morning. As she kissed him, pausing every once in a while to nibble on his decidedly delicious lower lip, her finger tips blazed fiery trails down his chest. He groaned deeply into her mouth as he gripped her buttocks more tightly and proceeded to manipulated her more quickly against his groin.  
  
When his hands found her breasts through her thin, silky sweater, it was Laverne's turn to moan. Bending his head, he surprised her by caressing the hard peaks of her nipples through the sweater, allowing the friction caused by the fine fabric to arouse her further, before he gently nipped at her. Laverne dropped her head back and moaned as the culmination his stimulation took it's toll on her.  
  
She was so far gone, that she nearly came when she felt his hand snake under the bottom of her sweater and roam upward posessively. Never before had she felt so out of control, or as aroused! Emboldened, she nimbly unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his jeans. As he stepped back to give her better access, she smiled at him wantonly, as she bent her head to take his zipper between her teeth. Lenny's moan of desire echoed through the tiny bedroom, as Laverne leisurely unzipped him.  
  
As she knelt down, her face inches from what she desired most at that moment, she felt Lenny's hands at the hem of her sweater, peeling it off over her head. She looked up at him and smiled as she slowly straightened herself up, allowing her hard nipples to graze the front of his briefs and tickle the fine hairs scattered across his torso.  
  
Lenny gasped in response and pulled her to him, painfully grabbing her upper arms as his tongue conquered her mouth again. Laverne had just finshed unbuttoning her own pants as she felt herself being pushed gently, but firmly back on the bedspread. As she kicked off her sandals, and pulled her thin slacks off, she watched Lenny rid himself of his cumbersome jeans and briefs.  
  
Before she could ask him to slow down, to let her touch him, he was upon her. His guitar calloused hands massaged her body roughly, gripping her from breasts to buttocks as Lenny placed a trail of kisses down her belly. She felt his warm fingers hook over the waistband of her now-damp silk panties before pulling them down over her legs. His hands raced up her legs to her eagerly spread thighs as she wrapped her arms around him and murmured, "Now," in his ear.  
  
"But I wanted to--"  
  
"Fuck me, now!" The command came out more harshly than she intended, surprised as she was by the need in her own voice. A quick caress apparently reassured Lenny that she was ready, as he positioned himself between her thighs and entered her with out preamble.  
  
The intensity of his first thrust shocked them both. Laverne raked her nails down his back as he withdrew, only to reenter her again and again with increasing vigor. Laverne met him stroke for stroke, rejoicing in the feeling of letting go. In his ear, she harshly muttered a mantra of "fuck me-fuck me-fuck me," as she bucked up against him.  
  
Her climax was surprisingly fast and intense. As she lost herself in delerium of her own rhythms, she felt Lenny clutch her buttocks painfully as he ground himself inside her one last time before becoming groaning and collapsing on top of her.  
  
As sanity slowly returned, Lenny became painfully aware of the twinge in his lower back and the cramp shooting up his right calf. Moaning, he pushed himself up on his elbows and off of Laverne's still panting form.  
  
He rolled onto his back and to the other side of his bed, as he tried to comprehend the events of the last hour.  
  
Usually, this was about the time he asked his partner to leave. Being awakened by three different women--- all crying and vowing never to drink again, was proof positive that his charm didn't linger in the harsh light of morning. He didn't need a house to fall on him to learn to beat them to the punch. It didn't hurt as much to be the bad guy instead of the doormat, he rationalized.  
  
It would even be harder with Laverne. The thought of her beautiful green eyes filled with shame and regret twisted his gut. Better to get it over with now, he figured. As he opened his mouth to give voice to the most cruel of sentences, a sound to his right caught his attention.  
  
Laverne choked back a second sob. Great, Lenny thought. The shame and regret part usually didn't kick in for at least an hour or two. Most of the time, anyhow.  
  
Her green eyes locked onto his, and his heart nearly broke when he saw the anguish in them. "Sorry," she choked as a tear trickled down the side of her face.  
  
Before he could berate himself further for causing the first--no, make that the only--woman he had ever really loved cry, she had flung herself to his side and gripped his shoulders as she wept into his chest.  
  
He didn't know what to do . Sure, he'd had plenty of experience with women crying as they ran away from him, but never had a woman run to him. So, not knowing what else to do, he simply held her. He let her cry herself out as he gently stroked her back until her ragged breathing quieted. Then, with a level of tenderness he hadn't known since Amy Babish, he gently tilted Laverne's chin up as he softly kissed her trembling lips.  
  
And she responded. This time their touches were more gentle, intending to soothe rather than to inflame. He slowly loved her with his mouth, and was rewarded by her soft moans and touches. When he finally claimed her, they were side by side on his mattress, clinging to each other as if drowning. Her soft whimper of his name into his ear between her tender nibbles, brought him to a gentle explosion inside of her. This time, he didn't withdraw, nor did she push him away. His last conscious thought was how their breaths and heartbeats were in perfect cadence.  
  
A particularly vicious ray of sunlight breached the opening of Lenny's right eyelid. He swore quietly as he realized the sheet he'd thrown over the cheap curtain rod must have fallen during the night. He swore again when he saw the face of his alarm clock. Seven? In the morning? What the hell?  
  
He then realized he was alone. At first, he didn't realize why that was so disturbing. He alwasy woke up alone. Then, the memories of last night came back to him, and he swore yet again.  
  
He cursed himself for being foolish, for allowing himself to dream like the losers he saw every day in the casino. Well, Laverne had gotten her vacation hump, just like she wanted. Bitterly, he hoped he had been worth her trouble and her phony tears.  
  
It was then when he smelled the smoke. No, more than smoke. More like the stench of burning insulation and ...strawberries?  
  
Leaping out of his bed, he dashed the short distance out of his bedroom door, stark naked and saw...  
  
Laverne.  
  
Laverne wearing only his denim shirt from last night as she threw his toaster under the running faucet in his sink before it became completely engulfed by flame. "Oh," she said, jumping as if startled, her eyes darting around the small kitchen nervously, "I wanted to surprise you..."  
  
"You did," he replied neutrally, thinking he'd never seen her look more desirable, runny eye make up and hickeys not withstanding.  
  
She let out a short, nasal, bark of a laugh as her blush deepened. "I mean, I wanted to make you breakfast, and I found Poptarts, and..." she gestured lamely at the toaster, now immersed in water, "I guess you can sort of tell that I don't cook much anymore."  
  
He'd never seen her more awkward. Then, realization finally dawned on him. She didn't have anymore of a clue about what happened last night, and what she wanted to happen today, than he did. For all their years, and experience, they were acting more like virgins than anything else. And, in a way, that's what they both truly were.  
  
"It ain't your fault. The Poptarts are really old, I think they belonged to the last tenant, cause I really don't like strawberries."  
  
"You don't?"  
  
"Nah," he replied as he moved towards her slowly, but confidently.  
  
"I'm sorry about your toaster," she said softly, meeting him halfway across the kitchen floor.  
  
"It's okay. It was really old anyhow," he said, as he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her against him, "I've had to rewire it twice in the last month."  
  
"Oh." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself closer to him.  
  
As he kissed her, he picked her up, enjoying how her legs wrapped themselves around him so easily and naturally. He didn't know if he still loved her, but he suspected he did; and he didn't even try to ponder if she loved him or not. He only promised himself he would take the time--and the risks-- to find out for sure.  
  
Oh, and of course make sure they both had one helluva good time along the way.  
  
FIN 


End file.
